For so long humanity had been terrified of an invasion by all-powerful aliens they could not hope to defeat. For a few brief years they had thought they were free of that fear, only for the hope to be torn from their grasp and shattered.
That is the way of things. Hope is ephemeral. Fear is eternal.
The Captain was not here. He preferred to remain on the
Corwin sat in her office, thinking about victory. Would this war ever be over? Would there ever be a time he could sit, and rest, and raise children in a world free from harm?
'It's just as well you left, Mary,' he said idly. 'You wouldn't like what's happening here.'
He wished he'd kept the ring he'd bought for her. He had thrown it away.
Sighing, he reached for some of the papers on the desk. The Captain had asked him to look for any important points relating to military matters in Governor Young's office. She had been a favoured protegee of President Clark, and had been reckoned for swift promotion. She was likely to have been involved in a number of matters the Alliance should know about.
Her desk, however, was a mess. There were obvious signs that she had tried to grab as much as she could before she fled, and she had understandably not bothered about tidying up after herself. Routine maintenance reports were mixed with census records and private letters. Corwin buried himself in the work, anxious for anything to take his mind away from the dark thoughts that were plaguing him.
As he dug into a mound of reports, he found a newspaper and pulled it free. A copy of
'Oh, my God,' he whispered, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He swiftly activated his link. 'Get me Captain Sheridan,' he said in a hurry. 'This is urgent.'
He looked back down at the front page.
DELENN CAPTURED. WAR CRIMES TRIAL PREPARED.
Mr. Welles was a man of iron will, not given to showing his emotions lightly. The truth was that he was an intensely guarded and private person, unable to show his inner self for fear of rejection. Only his wife had ever glimpsed his true self, and with her death there was no one who could claim to know him properly at all.
As a result of this intense privacy many people interpreted him as cold and emotionless. This was not true, it was merely that he kept his emotions firmly under control for fear of revealing his true anger and grief, for fear of letting his true self-loathing manifest itself in horror at the things he had done over the years in the name of a good cause.
Displays of rage were very rare. When she heard the sound of crashing and breaking, his secretary initially thought he was being attacked, or had possibly suffered a heart attack. Rushing to see what was wrong, she was horror-struck at the sight of Welles tearing down pictures and books from the walls of his office and hurling them around, seemingly in a drunken rage. He turned to look at her, and she recoiled from the fury of his gaze. Whatever was wrong with him, she knew he was as sober as any man ever born. She retreated, in need of something to drink herself.
His rage sated, Welles sank slowly to the floor, bitter tears running down his face. This was crazy. He knew he should keep his emotions private, but he could not. Clark would find out, Sheridan would find out.
He didn't care.
He had done many horrible things in his life. He had tortured, he had lied and deceived, he had destroyed lives and reputations, he had broken hearts and minds.
But it was all in a good cause, all for the good of humanity, all for the greater good, so that was all right.
He had done many horrible things, but this....
He could not do it. No, he had to. Too many lives were.... He could not! He had to!
He stood up and swayed over to his desk. Papers had become strewn across it in his rage, but as he sat down it was easy enough to find the one he was looking for. Preliminary medical report on Satai Delenn.
Please let the words not be there. Please let them not be there. Let this be a dream, an illusion, a joke, anything!
They were there. Black against the page, unassuming, innocuous, innocent.
He leapt to his feet and smashed his chair against the wall. Then he slumped to the floor and began to sob.
Why had she not told him? For God's sake, why? If he had had some warning, then maybe.... maybe he could have done something. Now it was too late. A copy of this report had been sent to Clark at exactly the same time he had received it. Sheridan would find out not long after, and he would take great delight in watching Welles do what he would have to do. Ambassador Sheridan hated Delenn.
Welles was not sure if he hated her, or loved her.... or what? He simply knew that she did not deserve this.
He looked back at the report. The words were still there. They had not disappeared, or faded away, or changed in any way.
Five simple words. That was all, but they were enough to damn him, to damn whatever pitiful speck remained of his soul.
His eyes skipped over the first four and settled on the last. He half-cried, half-laughed. He wanted so much for that word to not be there, for there to be a mistake, something, anything.
Eight little letters, a word many reacted to with joy. A word he had longed to hear all these years ago from the mouth of the woman he loved more than life itself. A word he was hearing now, and one he could not bring himself to accept.
One little word.
Pregnant.
Part 4 : A Future, Born in Pain.
A choice was made freely, and when she made it Delenn thought she understood the price. She did not. But now she will. She was willing to sacrifice her own life, but the universe will demand more than that. Much more, indeed.
